Holden's hands frame my face with careful gentleness. "Then stop carrying it alone. Let me help. Let me be what you need until this is over."
Until this is over. The reminder that this has an expiration date should sting. Instead all I feel is the warmth of his palms against my skin, the intensity of his gaze holding mine.
"What if I need more than just protection?" The question slips out before I can stop it, reckless and honest.
His thumb brushes along my cheekbone, tender and deliberate. "Then we'll figure that out. Together. After you're safe."
After. Always after. When the threats are neutralized and his assignment ends and we're back to being strangers who occasionally run into each other on the beach.
But the way he's looking at me, the careful restraint in his touch like he's afraid of pushing too hard too fast, suggests maybe after doesn't have to mean goodbye.
"Stay," I say. "Stay close tonight."
His eyes search mine, making sure I mean it. "Whatever you need."
What I need is to stop feeling like I'm drowning. What I need is to believe that safety exists somewhere beyond locked doors and security systems. What I need is this man who keeps showing up, keeps staying, keeps looking at me like I'm worth protecting.
Tomorrow we'll deal with Bruce and Rexford and whoever else wants to use my research for their own ends. Tomorrow we'll be professional and strategic and careful.
8
HOLDEN
Ialmost kissed her last night. Should've done it.
Dawn breaks over the Atlantic, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink as I run along the shoreline. Salt spray hits my face with each wave that crashes against the sand. My muscles burn in good way, the familiar rhythm of footfalls and breathing clearing my head after a night spent in the guest room listening to Fallon sleeping in the main bedroom.
I'd coordinated with the officers before leaving, ensuring coverage on the house while I cleared my head. They know to call immediately if anything changes, if Fallon wakes up, if there's any movement that doesn't belong. Standard protocol for protection details, even if this one feels anything but standard.
She'd fallen asleep in my arms again. Curled against my side on her bed, trusting me with her fear and exhaustion and the vulnerability she hides from everyone else. I'd stayed until her breathing evened out, then forced myself to move to the other room. To maintain some semblance of distance that's been eroding since I pulled her from the ocean.
The memory of sitting beside her on that bed, her asking me to stay close. My hands framing her face, thumb brushing alongher cheekbone. How close I came to leaning in. To finding out if her lips taste as good as I've been imagining for months.
Tactical assignment. Protection detail. Keep her alive, solve the threat, move on.
Except somewhere between watching her on the beach for months and these breakfast conversations and the way she lights up talking about tide pools, the assignment became something else entirely.
Footsteps approach from behind, another runner matching my pace. I glance over my shoulder and find Griff closing the distance, barely breathing hard despite the miles we've already covered. He falls into step beside me.
"You're up early," I say, not breaking stride.
"Saw you leave the house. Figured you could use company." Griff's voice carries amusement. "Or therapy. Hard to tell which."
"Neither. Just needed to run."
"At dawn. After spending the night in base housing with a gorgeous marine biologist." Griff grins, the expression visible in my peripheral vision. "Yeah, nothing going on there."
I ignore the bait, pushing the pace harder. Griff matches it easily, the silent communication we've perfected over years of ops together. He knows when to push and when to back off. Right now he's pushing.
"How's the protection detail going?" he asks after we've covered another stretch of beach in silence.
"Complicated. Multiple threats, escalating pattern, possible inside access." I keep my voice level, focusing on the tactical assessment. "Boat sabotage, lab destruction, research theft. Someone wants her work or wants her silenced. Maybe both."
Griff's expression hardens. "Any leads?"
"Too many. An ex-boyfriend with an expired restraining order showed up at Tidewater with official credentials. A defensecontractor asking pointed questions about vulnerabilities. Could be coordinated, could be separate threats converging." The frustration surfaces despite my best efforts. "And she refuses to hide. Wants to keep working like nothing's wrong."
"Sounds like she's got spine." Griff's tone approves. "And you're losing your mind trying to protect someone who won't hide."
